By the time Charles returned to the main Elwin estate, the grand chandelier in the foyer bathed the entire hall in dazzling light. As his tall, lean figure appeared beneath it, he immediately sensed a presence—familiar, yet strangely distant.
He's back?
"Lord Charles!" The house staff, stationed at the entrance, bowed respectfully as Charles passed. Expressionless, he walked steadily into the living room—only to find someone seated across from his father, Derrick Elwin.
It was August.
Six years. It had been six long years since they last laid eyes on each other.
Dressed in an all-white casual suit with matching trousers, August's slender frame sat poised, hands resting lightly on his knees. Though his back was to Charles and his expression unreadable, Charles didn't need to see his face to know—August had changed.
And so had everything between them.
This time, their war was about to begin.
"You're back?" Derrick was the first to speak. His voice was calm, but the corners of his mouth twisted with a chilly smirk as he looked past Charles at the proud silhouette in the distance. When his gaze fell upon the face that bore a striking resemblance to Charles's own, no one noticed the brief flash of cold cruelty in his eyes.
"Charles."
August didn't need to turn around to know who was behind him. The shadow alone told him everything. And when Charles stepped forward, both pairs of deep, obsidian eyes locked—like twin black whirlpools hiding years of resentment.
So much hate. So much history.
"It's good you're back," Charles said coolly, offering only a fleeting glance to the "brother" with whom he shared no blood. His lips curled into a faint smile as he caught the glint of challenge in August's eyes.
Interesting.
Only true opponents could spark this kind of excitement in him. And he knew August had been waiting for this day just as long as he had.
"Black Rock Co.," Derrick interrupted, his voice low but commanding. "August holds fifteen percent of the company shares. I made a promise to Norman—to let him inherit them before turning twenty-five. Since you're back now, you'll be managing the company with Charles."
He looked at August with a gaze far too complicated to define—tinged with a hint of something darker.
"Ah, so Uncle still remembers my father's will? How touching..." August replied, his tone laced with sarcasm. At the mention of his late father's name—Norman—the hatred in his eyes surged like wildfire.
This homecoming was about one thing. Revenge.
Because August knew very well who had truly caused his father's death: the man he called "Uncle."
Derrick Elwin. A wolf in gentleman's clothing.
And he hadn't forgotten the cruelty Derrick once inflicted on him.
The humiliation he suffered in America—
Was now etched into his soul like a brand.
"Congratulations," Charles said with a faint smile, extending his long fingers to grasp August's cold hand.
A strange current passed between them—something unspoken, indescribable.
And then, as if by instinct, they both smiled.
"Please take care of me from now on, Charles," August replied with polite sarcasm.
His sharp, handsome features carried a gravity and hostility far beyond his age—a kind of presence that mirrored Charles's own in many ways.
Charles said nothing, lips pressed into a faint curve, eyes slightly narrowed as he regarded the man before him...
Then Derrick broke the silence.
"Charles, I'll leave Philip's engagement to Miss Louis in your hands."
Only then did Charles recall the matter Derrick had mentioned once before—Philip's marriage.
Philip, who had always been Derrick's favored son, placed above all else.
Perhaps now, it was time he had a woman by his side...
"Harold, I've put up with you long enough!" Anila's voice rang out, sharp and furious, echoing through the cold, spacious villa.
"I've raised your little mistress's daughter for ten damn years—and now you want her to marry in Elvira's place? She's not my daughter!"
Elvira nodded in agreement, arms crossed. "Exactly! That freeloader's been living off my mom for years. It's about time she did something useful!"
"Shut up!" Harold snapped, voice heavy with guilt. "The engagement was arranged for Elvira—not Janet! She has nothing to do with this!"
He couldn't let it happen. He had already wronged Cornelia too many times, and he would not let their daughter become another casualty of his choices.
"So Janet's your daughter—but Elvira's not? Is that what you're saying now?" Anila shouted, her voice rising. "Harold, search your damn conscience. Have you been fair to me? To your children? To this family?!"
Truth be told, Harold owed everything to Anila.
Back then, he'd been nothing but a low-level employee at Zanya Corporation. Then came Anila—Zanya's pampered heiress—who had fallen for him at first sight. For the sake of his bright future, he married her. And with her father's wealth and Anila's ruthless ambition, the Louis Corporation was born.
He knew exactly what price had been paid for his success.
There had never been love between him and Anila. That's why, after their marriage, he was vulnerable—when he met Cornelia. Beautiful, gentle Cornelia. And from that brief affair came Janet.
If it hadn't been for Cornelia's tragic accident, Harold would never have let Janet grow up under Anila's roof, enduring all that silent cruelty.
He saw how Janet had grown more withdrawn, more distant from him.
He noticed. He just didn't know how to face her.
He owed her—far too much.
But he also owed Elvira… and Terrence.
He wasn't a good husband.
And he certainly wasn't a good father.
"Whatever happens, I won't let Janet marry into that family!" Harold's voice was firm, like it had been ten years ago when he first brought Janet home.
No matter how much Anila screamed, hit, or cursed—he would not back down.
"Well then," Anila shrieked, completely losing her composure, "if you won't let Janet go through with this, then you and that little whore can get the hell out! You won't get a single cent from the Zanya family!"
Right then, a voice interrupted them from the stairs.
"Are you talking about me?"
Janet had heard the yelling. She'd caught bits and pieces—enough to understand.
Three pairs of eyes turned to her, each filled with different emotions.
And just like that, she realized:
Her stepmother wanted her to marry in Elvira's place—
To a crippled man.
"Janet, this doesn't concern you. Go back to your room," Harold said quickly, stepping in front of her like the loving father he wasn't.
But Anila shoved him aside, her eyes cold, her intentions clear.
"I raised you for years, and now it's time you gave something back to the Louis family," she sneered. "Letting you take our name—Louis—was already more mercy than you deserved. Don't be as ungrateful as your dead mother's worthless man!"
"If marrying him means I can finally leave this house—if it means I can stop being Janet—then yes, I'll do it."
Janet stared directly into Anila's bloodshot eyes, her voice calm and unwavering.
A bitter smile curved on her lips. There was nothing left to hold on to—no dignity, no love, no warmth in this house.
She was done.
If marriage was her only escape route, then so be it.
It couldn't possibly be worse than staying here in the Louis family.
"Janet, do you even know what you're saying?" Harold reached out to stop her as she turned away.
But Elvira moved faster, stepping between them with practiced ease.
Janet had agreed.
Perfect.
The sooner that wretched girl disappeared from this house, the better.
A worthless girl for a crippled man?
What a perfect match.